


solar eclipse

by unsungillumination



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, Character Study, Gen, Mild episode prompto spoilers, endgame spoilers, the DLC spoilers are basically only in the author notes so just skip my rambling, the fic itself is DLC spoiler free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsungillumination/pseuds/unsungillumination
Summary: ** ENDGAME SPOILERS **in an alternate universe, prompto never tells the others that he’s an MT. as it turns out, he doesn’t need to say anything at all.over ten years, he comes to terms with who he is and where he belongs.a birthday gift for green_piggy!





	solar eclipse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [green_piggy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_piggy/gifts).



> this was written long before i played episode prompto - i started work on it in around februrary and had largely finished writing by late april. after that, it was just minor revisions. i was worried that episode prompto would blow the whole thing out of the water, but i was pleasantly surprised to find that episode prompto actually covered a lot of the same themes in what i found to be rather similar ways. i’ll talk more about that in the end notes, haha.
> 
> anyway! this is a birthday gift for bond [(green_piggy)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/green_piggy). she’s one of my best and dearest friends, and a fucking phenomenal writer in her own right ~~HER OWN WRITE~~ , so do yourselves a favour and check out her writing! and do ME a favour and tell her how wonderful she and her writing are and wish her a happy birthday, because she’ll get flustered and that’s real funny to me. happy birthday, nerdass.

_“There’s a way.”_

_The others look at him. He’s barely spoken since falling from his bonds, but you wouldn’t know from seeing him that he’d been released at all. He walks now as though in a dream; arms clamped to his sides, back hunched as though braced, making himself smaller, smaller; afraid – perhaps, to disturb the air – to occupy space – to do anything that might prove he’s even alive._

_Prompto stops before the door. Glances down at his arm and raises it slowly to the lock, heavily, like it’s made of the same steel that’s missing from his eyes._

_The lock beeps. The door opens._

_Noctis turns to Prompto with a question in his gaze, but Prompto avoids it. “Come on,” he says, “let’s get Noct’s powers back.” And he hurries into the room, and they know he’s hiding more than the new damp sheen to his eye –_

_– but Gladio and Noct exchange a glance and decide, wordlessly, that it can wait for a better moment. When he’s ready. When they’re all together, in a moment of peace and quiet._

_None of them realise that that won’t be for a long time._

 

* * *

 

   “He’ll come back.”

   Gladio simply grunts in acknowledgment, and Prompto fidgets with his camera strap. “Noct,” he starts again. “He’ll – he’ll come back, eventually, that’s what Ar– that’s what the, the chancellor, said…”

   Ignis leans forward to stoke the fire. “I suppose I don’t see why he would lie to us,” he says, voice only half dry.

   “He’s never done anything else,” Gladio points out anyway. His eyes are dark as he stares ahead, straight through the dancing flames to some vision of revenge or justice that Prompto is kind of glad he can’t see. Gladio snorts in disgust and turns away, his jaw tight. “Whatever.”

   “It doesn’t stand to reason,” insists Ignis. “There’s nothing to be gained by lying about Noct’s return –”

   “Damn it all, Iggy!” Gladio slams a hand down on his leg, and Prompto flinches. “Doesn’t stand to _reason?_ When – come on – when has the _chancellor_ –” he spits out the title like it’s bile on his lips – “ever done anything according to reason?!”

   “Just because you can’t see reason doesn’t mean he doesn’t,” snaps Ignis. “Don’t be a fool, Gladio.”

   “ _Oh,_ I’m _the fool –_ ”

   “Please stop,” whispers Prompto, but Gladio is on his feet.

   “I’m sick of this,” he growls, beginning to pace the length of the camp. “I’m sick of stumbling after him in the dark like this – listening to him _spew shit_ because we _don’t have a_ _choice_ – being so _helpless_ – and now – he’s – _Noct is_ –”

   “Do you think I don’t know?” shouts Ignis, also rising to his feet. “Gladio, for the love of the Six –”

    “ _Fuck_ the Six!”

   “– don’t you think I _know_ how you’re feeling?! Noct didn’t belong to you, I’m just as –”

   “That piece of shit fucking _killed_ him and you’re here talking about _fucking_ _reason_ –”

   “ _Shut up_ ,” hisses Ignis, and Gladio actually does, stops in his tracks and stares. “For – oh, _fuck_ this, Gladio, I –!” Ignis bites back whatever he’s about to say, closes his eyes with a grimace. “We _know_ you’re angry, we… We’re all angry. But you _cannot_ let this cloud your judgement.” He sits back down. “You’re better than this,” he murmurs. “And we both know that Ardyn Izunia is, too. There’s a larger plan at work, and it isn’t just _I_ who cannot see it for once.”

   “Great time for a blind joke,” mutters Gladio, but sinks into his seat too.

   Rather – sinks into _a_ seat, because it’s not his, it’s Noct’s, and it takes him a moment to realise before he awkwardly rises back out of it again.

   “Sorry,” squeaks Prompto. “I – I set it up by accident, I… forgot –”

   “S’alright,” says Gladio, and tries to stroll casually back across to his own seat – but something’s been broken.

   There’s a beat of silence, and the empty chair seems to speak volumes.

   “I’m sorry,” says Gladio, after a while. “Sorry, Iggy.”

   “That’s quite alright,” says Ignis. “I apologise for losing my composure.”

   Gladio snorts. “Yeah, don’t worry. I think I can handle it.”

   “He’ll come back,” repeats Prompto. “I – I dunno. I feel it. We just gotta wait for him.” He looks around at them, and his eyes are beseeching. “We can’t – fight each other like this, you guys.”

   “I know,” says Gladio. “I said I was sorry.”

   “No – it’s okay, I just –” Prompto bites his lip. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry, I just – we lost Noct, and I… I can’t lose…”

   “You won’t lose us,” says Ignis, gentler than he’s sounded all night.

   “You guys are like the only friends I’ve ever known,” says Prompto softly. “I just hope… one day… things can go back to the way they were.”

   “They will,” says Gladio. “Don’t worry. I’m – ah… I’m sorry I said that stuff about Noct. I… I don’t think he’s dead, either.” He manages a bracing grin. “And, hey, in the meantime, you’re stuck with us.”

   “Couldn’t shake us if you wanted to,” says Ignis, smiling. “We’ll get through this together.”

   “Keep the peace while the King’s off takin’ his nap,” says Gladio. “Three of us against the world, right?”

   Prompto seems to breathe again. “Promise?” he asks. “No matter what?”

   “Never doubt it,” says Ignis.

   Gladio snorts. “You sound like a kid.”

   “Please,” says Prompto, and even Gladio is struck by the desperation in his voice, how he clutches his wrist like it’s his only anchor to the earth. “Please, Gladio.”

   “Yeah, no matter what,” says Gladio, taken aback. “‘Course no matter what. What could break us up?”

   He can’t stop himself from glancing at the empty chair again, and the answer goes unsaid but not unheard.

   Prompto tightens his grip.

 

* * *

 

_1 month in_

 

   He doesn’t belong.

   It’s not a surprise. It’s _never_ a surprise. He’s never belonged to anything.

   Prompto almost laughs, gazing a little bitterly at his reflection in the dusty caravan mirror. His left cheek is puffy and grazed from where he’d slammed into a wall during the day’s fight. He touches it gingerly and hisses at the sting – but they’re running low on supplies, and Gladio was hurt worse than he was today.

   Besides, in some twisted way, he kind of likes the way the angry red scrape looks against his pale skin. It’s proof, somehow – that he's _real_. That he’s _doing_ something. Helping someone. Maybe.

   One blow to the face after another – and didn’t that describe his life just _fine_? Anything new, anything good, and he’d bet his camera every time that it wouldn’t be long until he found _it_. The _difference_. The latest reason he’d never quite fit in. An endless list of factory defects. Something he could never quite erase, no matter how hard he tried.

   And _gods_ , did he try.

   Prompto traces his fingers over the white stretch marks that snake over his hips. Like he’d survived being struck by some miniaturised lightning. He kind of likes them. More proof – of work done, of life lived – free decisions and imperfections that came with – _ha_ – humanity.

   Still. He runs a hand across his waistline. Trim now, from years of desperate determination, but you could still find a little softness – trace remnants of a lonely, outcast child – if you knew where to look.

   And _gods_ , did he know.

   Did the others do the same? Commit to memory their own perfect, imperfect maps; the exact coordinates of each flaw, the exact moment of each mistake? Could they neatly stab a brightly coloured pin to every reason they’d never belong?

   Prompto brings two fingers to his wrist and presses hard on the barcode, watching the skin go white around the ink. A mark he can’t erase, and the only one he really wants gone. Proof again – but not of something he’s lived or done. No – something done to him. The mark of what – _what, not who_ – he is, that can’t be overridden by any scar, any blemish, any proof of life. Something he can’t change.

   He thinks of his friends and something shatters within him.

   They mean so much to him. They shouldn’t. For there was that _difference_ again. _Friends_ , but Prompto daren’t delude himself. The real reason they remain with him, seem even to care about him, must – surely – be Noctis. Friends of a friend who tolerate him, because they love _Noctis_.

   Now Noct is _gone_.

   In the back of Prompto’s mind, he always waits for them to abandon him. Knowing what he isn’t – and, soon, inevitably, what he _is_ – it’s only a matter of time.

   He slips the wristband back on and braces to be alone again.

 

* * *

 

_4 months in_

 

   Ignis notices.

   Of _course_ he notices. Only a fool wouldn’t, at this point, and even Gladio is bound to pick up on something soon.

   Prompto is clearing up after dinner the way he has done every night for as long as they’ve been on the road – or at the very least, Ignis _thinks_ he is, because the tell up until recently had been the incessant humming that accompanied the soft clattering of the dishes, and Ignis hasn’t heard that in some time.

   He’s never brought it up. Figuring Prompto was entitled to his privacy, to his own methods of coping and to his own pain, Ignis had left it alone. But the melancholy is tangible enough in the air tonight that he feels a twinge of guilt at letting it – whatever _it_ is – fester.

   Knowing full well that none of them have been for a long while, he says quietly, “Are you alright?”

   The clattering stops. “Huh?” stammers Prompto. “Y–yeah, of co– sorry, am I taking too long?”

   “No, no,” says Ignis. “You’ve just been rather quiet of late.”

   Prompto laughs uncomfortably. “Isn’t that a good thing?” he tries. “Least I’m not being annoying, right?”

   “You aren’t annoying.”

   Prompto doesn’t say anything. After a moment, the clattering resumes.

   Ignis lets the quiet stretch for a long moment before he says, almost casually, “I do hope you know that it doesn’t matter to us. That code on your wrist.”

   _Crash_.

   Ah. So he’d been correct. “Are you alright?”

   “Y–you… you…” Prompto’s breathing has grown unsteady. Ignis can almost hear him shaking as the plates rattle and roll away from his feet. “You know… about that?”

   “I do.”

   “How… how long…”

   “At Zegnautus Keep,” says Ignis. “You raised your arm and unlocked a door.”

   “You could – I mean, you could tell?”

   “My hearing is quite sharp, you know,” says Ignis, and then more wryly, “and Gladio mentioned it to me.”

   Prompto laughs, but the sound is shaky and unsettled. “R–right. Well, I – uh. Yeah. You got it. Ding ding ding! ...It’s there, all right.”

   “A barcode?”

   “Like a soup can!” The attempt at cheeriness grates at Ignis’ ears.

   “Or perhaps, an MT,” he says. “Right?”

   Prompto swallows audibly.

   “Right. Uh, yeah. I… I’m... You know. One of those. For sure.” There’s a pause, in which Ignis imagines Prompto is chewing on his lip. “I’m… sorry I didn’t tell you.”

   “No need to apologise.”

   “D’you think… the others know, too?”

   “They might,” says Ignis.

   Prompto swallows.

   Ignis says, “If you’d rather I kept it to myself –”

   “Ignis,” interrupts Prompto, “Iggy, I – I swear, you can trust me. I _swear_. I’m sorry. I’m –I’m sorry, I – I didn’t mean to –” his breath hitches – “to hide it from you –”

   “Prompto, it’s alright. Really.”

   “You can trust me,” repeats Prompto, in a smaller voice. “I promise.”

   “I know we can.”

   “But,” Prompto presses on like Ignis hadn’t spoken, although each word seems to catch in his throat. “If you, um. If you want me to leave, I –” He gulps. “I get it.   So – if you – if you want...”

   Ignis frowns. “Why would we?”

   “W–well, I mean – it’s… I wouldn’t blame you, you know?”

   “I’ve just told you it doesn’t matter to us. It would be rather foolish to hate you for something you can’t help, don’t you think?” asks Ignis. “It doesn’t make you _evil_ , Prompto.”

   “But –”

   “You may be one of them,” says Ignis firmly. “But you aren’t _one_ _of them_.”

   Prompto shakes his head, more like he’s trying to dislodge an unwanted thought than to disagree. “I’m – Iggy – no matter how you spin it, you can’t change the fact that _I’m_ – _an MT._ Bor– engineered, to…” His voice cracks as he tries to laugh it off. “Be a monster. A… daemon.”

   “But you _aren’t_ one,” says Ignis, sounding almost puzzled. “Prompto, it doesn’t matter that you came from the Empire.”

   “I was made to fight for them. Doesn’t that make me the enemy?”

   “What if they used war Chocobos?” Ignis suggests suddenly.

   “…Huh?”

   “They would have been bred to fight for the Empire, too,” Ignis says. “Would that make all Chocobos the enemy?”

   “…There are war Chocobos?”

   Ignis blinks, and then sighs. “We are not getting war Chocobos.”

   Prompto slumps. “Man.” He nudges his foot around in the soil for a bit and then says, “The Chocobos wouldn’t have a choice.”

   “Neither did you.”

   Prompto is stubbornly, unimpressedly silent.

   Ignis purses his lips, considering. “All right,” he says. “What of Aranea?”

   “Huh? A–Aranea? …What about her?”

   “Well, she’s a Nif, you know,” says Ignis. “One who worked for the Empire. And willingly, no less. Do you hate her?” He shrugs. “By all rights, perhaps we _ought_ to –”

   “No!” protests Prompto. “Of course not! She’s m– she’s a friend, she’s _helping_ –” And he falls silent again, but it seems just slightly more pensive this time.

   “It’s not your past that defines you,” Ignis says quietly, and hesitates. “Nor your circumstances.”

   Prompto looks at Ignis, who cannot look back. Looks at Ignis, who fights alongside them all the same.

   “I…”

   “None of this was your decision.” Ignis reaches up to adjust his shades and the sun glints off of them, rendering his expression unreadable. “But even if it _had_ been your decision, we still wouldn’t hold it against you. What matters are the decisions that you’re making now. Just as Aranea has changed her loyalties, you’ve chosen yours.” He smiles. “What was it you said? ‘No matter how you spin it’... you’re one of us.” The smile becomes a smirk. “Unless you’d rather not be.”

   Prompto blinks.

   “And if it helps,” Ignis adds, rather nonchalantly, “I’m awfully glad you’re with us. I don’t think we’d manage quite so well without you. ...Nor, I’d imagine, would we really want to.”

   Prompto makes a small sound of surprise from somewhere in his throat. “You really… want me around?”

   “I’ve told you, that code doesn’t matter –”

   “No,” interrupts Prompto, “no, I mean – even just – just _me_. Do you really… I mean, Noct’s gone.” Each word sounds like a razor blade being dragged from his throat – like he desperately needs to get them out and desperately wishes he didn’t have to. “You don’t have to like, keep me around. Anymore. If you don’t want.”

   Ignis pauses. “That’s very considerate of you,” he says.

   “Th–thank you?”

   “It’s almost a shame.”

   “...What is?”

   “To turn you down.” Ignis pushes his shades further up his nose. “You worry we don't want you to stay? I’m afraid I must inform you that there’s very little I want more.”

   A pause, and then Prompto makes a choking noise.

   “ _Iggy?_ ”

   “Come on, then,” says Ignis, turning away. “Gladio isn’t going to help me with these dishes.”

   Prompto is silent for a moment longer, and Ignis is beginning to worry that he’s crossed some line – when Prompto actually manages a huffed laugh.

   “I…” He laughs again, and Ignis thanks the gods that it sounds _real_ , if a little cracked. “Th–thanks, Iggy.”

   “Hmph.” Ignis turns back to him, and smiles. “What on earth for?”

 

* * *

 

_7 months in_

 

   “C’mon,” says Gladio, slinging his sword back over his shoulder. “Back at it.”

   “We’ve been at it for hours! Just… Just gimme…” Prompto doubles over, wheezing. “Maybe a year.”

   Gladio rolls his eyes. “You alright?”

   “Yeah,” huffs Prompto, “yeah, I’m – just – _man_ , I am _not strong_ –” And he breaks off to cough, half–laughing, eyes low and self–conscious.

   Gladio shrugs. “Strongest MT I’ve ever fought,” he says. “Ready to go again?” He takes a gulp from his water bottle, only to realise that Prompto hasn’t moved. “Oi, Prompto. Wake up.”

   Prompto doesn’t say anything.

   Gladio frowns. “Hey,” he says, slightly worried. “You with me? Hey, I was just kidding. Promps –”

   “How can you joke about it like that?”

   Gladio winces.

   “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to upset you. If it bothers you I won’t –”

   “No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Prompto pulls himself back up to standing. “You, uh. If you know about – um, about it, why – why don’t you… I dunno. Hate me?”

   “Huh?” Gladio looks back at him, uncomprehending. “The hell would I hate you?”

   Prompto flounders. “Well, it’s – I mean, it’s kind of a bad thing, isn’t it?”

   “Sure, I guess,” says Gladio, frowning, “but _you’re_ not a bad thing.”

   “I don’t understand.”

   “It’s just the way things are,” says Gladio. “Can’t change it. No point whining. Why not crack a joke? I mean, if it don’t bother you.”

   “You never joke about Ignis’ eyes,” says Prompto. “Or Noct’s – or, or Noct.”

   Gladio shakes his head. “Not my place,” he says. “Those aren’t my tragedies.”

   “Well, neither am I!”

   Gladio snorts. “You’re not a tragedy. You’re a fact.”

   “What?”

   “Look, Iggy lost his sight,” says Gladio, letting his sword drop. “And Noct lost – uh, we… We lost Noct. But you?”

   “I’m –”

   “You _exist_ ,” says Gladio firmly. “That’s all you got. You exist. So you’re an MT.” He shrugs and gestures at himself, deadpan. “I’m _not_ an MT. Umbra’s a dog. That over there’s a fucking tree. What’s the difference?” He rolls his shoulders back. “Just facts. Nothing lost. Nothing tragic about you _being_ here.”

   “Yeah, but _I’m a_ –”

   “Look, I don’t see the problem,” says Gladio impatiently. “Sure, maybe being an MT is rough, but what’s the big deal? You’re not broken, you're not some charity case, you’re one of us. What else matters?”

   “I’m…” Prompto swallows. “I’m barely even human.”

   “I don’t give a shit,” says Gladio, matter–of–factly.

   Prompto goes quiet at that.

   “Your dad…” he says at last.

   Gladio’s gaze sharpens. “What about him?” he asks warily.

   “That’s your tragedy. Isn’t it?” Prompto raises his chin to look Gladio squarely in the eye. “You never joke about him.”

   Gladio stiffens.

   “That’s not a tragedy to me,” he says, and he almost manages to sound offhand. “Just another fact.”

   “Then why don’t you –”

   “Iris,” says Gladio. “It’s _her_ tragedy.”

   Prompto blinks. “She… seems fine,” he says tentatively.

   “‘Course she does,” says Gladio, not bothering to hide the pride in his voice. “Ain’t nothing on heaven or earth could take down Iris. Doesn’t mean she should have to take it.”

   “Doesn’t that go for you, too?”

   Gladio doesn’t say anything for a moment. “This isn’t about me,” he says finally. “None of us are gonna hold it against you that you’re an MT, alright? No one but an idiot cares about that kinda crap.”

   “ _I_ care about it…”

   “Yeah, well, you’re an idiot,” says Gladio. He punches Prompto in the shoulder and snorts when Prompto stumbles sideways. “Hey. I know I’m a scary guy.”

   “I’m not scared of you,” Prompto lies at once, getting back to his feet and keeping a wary distance from Gladio’s punching arm.

   “Sure.” Gladio takes another swig from his water bottle. “But you ever need to talk about this crap, you come to me, alright?”

   Prompto hesitates. “Why?”

   “Hey, I might not look it, but I’m a good listener,” says Gladio. “We can talk through it, okay? You don’t have to take this shit by yourself.”

   “No – I mean – why would you bother?”

   “Huh?” Gladio frowns. “You’re my friend. Idiot.” He grins suddenly. “Besides, we can’t have our sharpshooter feeling… _MT inside_.”

   Prompto stares at him for zero–point–four seconds before throwing his head back and groaning. Gladio punches him again, laughing.

   “Seriously,” he says. “Don’t sweat it, alright?”

   “Yeah… Yeah, okay,” says Prompto, and manages a smile. “Hey, and – Gladio?”

   “Hm?”

   “If you ever wanna talk about your dad…” Prompto hesitates. “Well, back atcha, I guess. You don’t have to do it alone.”

   Gladio looks at him for a long moment, and then his face softens. “Thank you,” he says.

   “Nah… Thanks, Gladio.”

 

* * *

 

_10 years in_

 

   Prompto sits.

   The time had gone quickly at first. Just fine, just the three of them, swearing to hold the fort and hold it _together_ – just until Noct got back. It wouldn’t be long. It wouldn’t be, and then Noct would return, and they’d move on and kick ass.

   Weeks turned to months. Turned to years. Not that anyone could tell, when each moment might have been a night and each night a week, as the day fell into disuse and the world fell into disrepair and the daemons rose through the night and never sank back, and age traced lines around their eyes, and they drifted – drifted –

   _“‘Course no matter what. What could break us up?”_

   And Prompto had never felt more at sea.

   And now…

   He looks out across the station. It’s dark, of course, and the caustics from the warped streetlights are greenish and strange on the concrete – like the whole station might be underwater, but also isn’t.

   Gladio and Ignis stand talking quietly a little way away. And Noct is stood in the store, struggling with what to spend their meagre remaining gil on.

   Prompto smiles. It’s absurd. Prince – _King_ Noctis Lucis Caelum has been gone for ten years and here he is, digging his hands in his pockets in a dilapidated gas station convenience store and negotiating with the clerk on energy drinks.

   And Prompto’s just sitting on a pile of pipes.

   Surreal.

   Noctis saunters out of the store and looks around, squinting for a familiar face. The neon sign casts a weird halo on him as he stands there, looking lost, and for a moment he glows, hazy and soft. A light in the dark. Singular and untouchable.

   Then he spots Prompto, and begins to head over, and the illusion is broken.

   “So,” he says, sitting down.

   “Hey, dude,” says Prompto. “What’s up?”

   “Nothing much.”

   They look at each other for a second and then break away, chuckling. And then the laughter fades out, and Prompto looks to the sky and bites his lip. Because in all this time, he’s forgotten, really; what it is to have friends, and indeed _how_ to have them – let alone how to talk to a guy who’s been absent without official leave for ten years and come back with a _beard_.

   But Noct seems to be working up to something, so Prompto leans back on his hands and watches the stars and just tries to enjoy the moment before it ends. And it does end, because Noct eventually says, “So. An MT, huh?”

   Prompto nearly falls off his pipe. “Wh–what?!”

   It’s something he’s not bothered to grapple with for years now. Perhaps it would no longer weigh on his mind the way it once did, though he wouldn’t know, having abandoned the thought to some high shelf in his mind that he never reaches for.

   It wasn’t something he’d ever thought he could simply _not_ think about – but full–time daemon hunting left little time for rumination. He’d come to accept it for a fact, just as Gladio said: something unpleasant and unsettling, but nonetheless true and impossible to change.

   That... doesn’t make it nicer to hear.

   “So is it true?” asks Noct, and Prompto realises he’s just been staring blankly ( _MT–ly_ , says Gladio’s voice in his head, and he resolves to find Gladio later and punch him) for about a minute.

   “Oh! Hah…” He tries to gather himself back together. “Dude, you’ve been back for like five minutes. How’d you find that out already?”

   Noct shrugs. “Turns out meditating for ten years gives you, like, eternal wisdom of the cosmos and stuff. I… don’t really know.”

   Prompto laughs, a little nervously. “Oh, man…” He scratches the back of his neck. “Didja really meditate for ten years?”

   “Nah,” says Noct. “Mostly slept.”

   They both chuckle again.

   “That’s our Noct,” says Prompto, smiling at his shoes. “Never change…”

   And they lapse into silence again.

   “Does it bother you?” Prompto asks, after a moment. “That you’re – friends with a… Well.”

   “Why would it?”

   “I – I dunno.” Prompto shrugs. “I dunno. I’m, you know. I’m from the Empire. And you – you know, what they did – what they’ve _done_ to…”

   “Since when does where you come from matter to you?” asks Noct. “You never once treated me as a prince.”

   “I…” Prompto laughs again. “Yeah, I – I guess. Sorry.”

   Noct hesitates. “No, don’t apologise.”

   “Hm?”

   “I’m… I’m sorry, Prompto.”

   “What?” Prompto turns to look at him. “Wait, what? Why?”

   Noct looks like he’s tussling with something in his mind. “I haven’t been… a very good friend to you,” he says.

   Prompto squints at him and laughs, confused. “You’ve been stuck in a rock, dude. It’s alright.”

   “No, not that.” Noctis scowls. “…That night on top of the motel. In Leide.”

   “Wh– you still…” Prompto struggles to form words. “You still remember that?”

   Noctis shrugs. “Ten years, not much to do. You mull stuff over.”

   “Right... Heh. Well, what about it?”

   “I…” Noct sighs. “Gods, I’m so bad at this. You – look, you got real with me, and I didn’t – I wasn’t very – I didn’t say much, and – uh –”

   “Dude,” says Prompto, alarmed. “You – don’t worry about it, man, it was ten years ago, and I – well, I mean, I’ve worked through some stuff since then, and… you were fine.” He punches Noct lightly in the arm. “You really helped just by listening, y’know?”

   “ _No_ ,” says Noct, “no, that’s not enough. I’m sorry, Prompto. I shouldn’t have brushed you off. That’s not… what a good friend would do.”

   “Whoa,” says Prompto, “h–hey, it’s okay. Lighten up! You’re my best friend, I know you. That’s just how Noct operates! It’s cool.”

   “Yeah, well, Noct _shouldn’t_ operate like that,” says Noctis, smiling ruefully. “I just – want you to know… I’m here for you. And I will _never_ turn my back on you. Not because you’re an MT, not for anything.”

   Prompto looks at him, and for the first time since Noct’s been back, Prompto really sees his age. More than just the beard, or the layer of dirt – it’s something new in his eyes; a depth of understanding in which Prompto can’t stay afloat, knocked below the surface by fresh waves of exhaustion.

   “Wow,” he says. “You – you’ve become quite the wise old king, you know that?”

   Noct laughs. “You think so?” he asks, and looks at his shoes, and for all of one moment he’s twenty years old and a hopelessly awkward dork again. It’s gone just as quickly, and the eyes that flicker up to meet Prompto’s are impossibly, unmatchably old and weary. “I’m sorry I got so real all of a sudden.” Noct hesitates. “You… You’re my best friend, you know? You mean a lot to me, Prompto.”

   Prompto blinks, and manages a laugh. “I – ah – haaah, you’re… Noct, you’re gonna make me cry.”

   “Sorry.” Noct smiles. “Hey. …It’s good to see you.” He slings an arm around Prompto’s shoulders.

   “Yeah,” says Prompto, “yeah, it – it really is. I – I missed you, Noct.” His lip trembles, and before he can stop himself, he turns and wraps his arms tightly around his friend. “I… really missed you.”

   Noct stiffens momentarily with surprise, before making a choked sound that’s almost a laugh and slipping his other arm around Prompto. “Yeah… Yeah, I really missed you, too.”

 

* * *

 

 _After_.

 

   “Hey… Hey, Noct. I’m, uh… I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit earlier.”

   Prompto shuffles his feet, twirling the sylleblossoms in his hands. “I didn’t really know… what to say to you, or…” He shrugs at nothing. “I dunno. I dunno. It’s weird, y’know? You were never really much of a talker, I guess. That was mostly me. So it’s not… that different. Really. It’s just hard –” he gulps, and tries to pull himself together. “It’s just hard when I can’t see you. You know? Like, I dunno if you’re listening. I… I think you are. You’ve always…” He chokes out a laugh. “You’ve always been a good listener.”

   He fiddles with the flowers again, tapping them against his wrist. “Anyway, these are for you, I guess. You can – you can give them to Luna for me, or something, I don’t…” His voice trails into a whisper. “I dunno. This… I feel stupid.” He bends down quickly and places the flowers on the dirt. “Happy birthday?” he jokes weakly, and then sighs. “I miss you, Noct.”

   The gravestone doesn’t respond. Prompto smiles sadly.

   “Thanks for this,” he says, gesturing at the light sky. “It’s nice to feel the sun again. I was starting to lose my freckles! …If you can believe it…” He sighs again. “It’s selfish, and don’t tell anyone, but… I think I’d rather it were still dark, if you could be here with us…

   “Things have been better, though. It’s – it’s nice, you know, not having to hunt, and – Gladio’s finally getting married, can you believe it? Iggy’s best man – he’s been planning like crazy – Gladio asked me to be the _ring–bearer_ –” he wrinkles his nose – “I’m pretty sure he was kidding, but you never know with the big guy, huh?

   “And… I’m – hey, I’m doing okay too, I’m…” A strangled sob escapes him, disguised as a watery laugh. “Man,” he whispers. “I… I really miss you, Noct, I… I’m glad that – that we got to see you again, just once, but it… It wasn’t enough. It really –” Prompto stops to swipe at his nose. “Sorry. I just – there’s a lot I wish I got to tell you. Y’know? You’re my best friend…” He laughs again. “I mean, you knew that, obviously. But you – what you said to me, when you were – you know, yeah? I didn’t – I didn’t say… But you mean a lot to me, too, buddy. Ah – you… _meant_ a lot to m–? No, you still – oh, son of a bitch.” He sniffles and fishes in his pocket for a tissue. “I guess, just… Being friends with you? It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I told you. I never used to like myself all that much. Sometimes I still…” He smiles reflexively, but his eyes are wistful. “But you never treated me different. None of you. Even after you found out I was… What I was. I’m just grateful. You have no idea what it meant to me. To feel like I belonged for once. And I’m just really glad I got this chance, Noct, I… Thanks. Thank you.”

   In the distance, a car door slams. “Are you ready, Prompto?” Ignis calls. “We ought to be going if we don’t want to be late.”

   “Yeah,” Prompto calls back, “yeah, just – just a sec.” He turns back quickly. “I – I gotta go to the, uh, the… practice dinner?” He wrinkles his nose. “It’s a good thing I’m not best man. I don’t know jack about weddings. But I gotta go. I’ll, um. I’ll save you some cake.” He bites his lip. “Or I won’t. I’ll probably eat it. Sorry.”

   “Prompto,” calls Ignis again.

   “Coming!” Prompto steps forward hurriedly and gives the gravestone an awkward pat. “I guess this is bye for now, buddy. Photos to take, weddings to attend, ya know! New beginnings, and all that! And – hey, I… I think…” He hesitates, then tugs something off his arm before leaning down to place it atop the flower stems. “I think this is a good place to start, don’t you? …I’ll… Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” He quirks his lips in a brief smile. “Love ya, Noct. …Thanks for everything.”

   He hovers for a moment, before giving a decisive nod and turning on his heel to dash over to Ignis. “Sorry! I’m coming!”

   Behind him, a faintly warm breeze rustles the sylleblossoms and knocks the old wristband loose. It tumbles to the ground.

   _Nothing left to hide._

**Author's Note:**

> knocks emphatically on square’s door HEY!! MY BOY PROMPS DESERVES A HAPPY ENDING!!
> 
>   **skip these notes if you haven’t played episode prompto - or if you just don’t care for my authorial rambling, goodness knows i won’t blame you!**
> 
> so as i said, i wrote this long before i played episode prompto. when i actually played the episode, i was really pleasantly surprised by how well the themes lined up, however subtly - at least, to me. most notably:  
> 
> 
> * the little bit where prompto presses on his barcode plays out much nicer when you consider the scene at the campfire - regardless of what you decided to do with the burning stick. now it feels more like like a resigned acknowledgement that he can’t get rid of the mark, which he knows, because he’s tried/couldn’t bring himself to try.
> 
> * ignis’ comments about aranea. before episode prompto, i was worried about including them, because they seemed kind of out of left field? she was just a convenient example that i had ignis use for the sake of relevance. now that aranea has more personal meaning to prompto, it makes more sense that he’d jump more quickly to her defense and find her situation more relatable. ignis still might not know about her significance to prompto (i have no idea if prompto told the others what went on while he was away), but i still think he’d bring it up regardless for the same reasons that i originally held - she’s just a good, sensible example to use, since aranea is their ally and maybe friend.
> 
> * noctis. i was worried about this when i first finished episode prompto, because in the post-credits “ever at your side” scene, noctis gets real with prompto and prompto acknowledges with some surprise that noctis sounds like a king - which, oddly enough, is a revelation that i placed and emphasised in this fic. only i had it happen ten years later. so i was concerned about it - until i realised that in this universe, that scene doesn’t happen in quite the same way, because of course prompto doesn’t tell noctis that he’s from niflheim. so basically in this fic, the more kingly/touchy-feely aspects of that scene get moved from where they happen in canon (when prompto comes clean) to ten years later, because that’s the first opportunity noctis has had to really acknowledge the new information. that, in addition to my original intention of using it as an opportunity to show noct’s growth in those ten years.
> 
> nonsensical rambling aside, hey! i hope you enjoyed this fic. i poured a lot of myself into writing it and i hope it worked for you! especially you, bond! i love you and hope you’re having a great birthday and that this fic didn’t horribly disappoint you or ruin your life.
> 
> if you enjoyed this, comments and kudos make my life worth it!! come yell at me here too if you like:   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/gIadio_amicitia)  
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